


Alone Again?

by asgardiandrums



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Post - The Empty Hearse, Shameless Smut, Takes place right after John&Mary's wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:44:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asgardiandrums/pseuds/asgardiandrums
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock was caught between a rock and a hard place. He wanted - no - he NEEDED to know how Jim faked his death. Sherlock watched the man die, for crying out loud. If Sherlock were to go with Jim, what would happen? This was Moriarty's game, and Sherlock was utterly bored.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone Again?

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't my normal writing OTP, but this idea came to me last night, and I couldn't help myself. 
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you to my wonderful friend for proof reading this, and letting me bounce ideas off of her.
> 
> Enjoy the story :D

Sherlock dramatically swung his coat on, as he left John's wedding. While he buttoned up his coat, his thoughts drifted back to this morning, and he thought how right Mrs. Hudson was. Marriage had already changed John. Sherlock felt so alone...

"Well, this is a turn up! Isn't it, Sherlock?" a low Irish drawl purred from the shadows.

Sherlock froze and slowly turned toward where the voice had come from. His heart nearly leapt out of his chest at the sound of _his_ voice.

"No..." Sherlock whispered, disbelieving his own ears.

"Did ya miss me?" the voice drawled again, stepping slightly out of the shadows.

"It can't be..."

"Oh but it is, my dear," the mystery man finally stepped out of the shadows.

"Jim..." Sherlock breathed out. His emotions were caught up in a whirlwind of anger and happiness.

"Hi." Moriarty sang, just like that night at the pool.

Sherlock sighed, and lit a cigarette. "Your entrances are repeating themselves."

"Don't flatter yourself." Jim snapped.  "Throwing it back for kicks is all."

"Is that so?" Sherlock asked, blowing out a puff of smoke.

"You don't even look surprised! Don't you want to know how I did it? How I came back from blowing my brains out?" Moriarty asked, pouting.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll figure it out soon," Sherlock said, smirking.

"No fun!" Moriarty said, stamping his foot like a child.

They stood in silence staring out at the night. Sherlock, seemingly, unbothered that his old enemy had come back from the dead. Jim was beginning to get frustrated.

"We're a lot alike, now, you and I," he told Sherlock.

"Oh?"

"Alone... bored... cold," Jim smiled to himself, happy at his last little deduction.

A chill ran down Sherlock's spine. He shook it off and stubbed out his cigarette.

"How's that sniper of yours doing?" Sherlock asked, knowing Moriarty's soft spot for a certain "tiger".

Moriarty stiffened. "Sebastian Moran is not around to tell his tale anymore," he calmly explained, picking a fuzzy off his jacket. "We had a... domestic."

Sherlock tutted. "Nasty business."

"Indeed. I'm sure _we_ won't be having any of those. Hmm?" Moriarty inquired, planting a seed in Sherlock's head.

"We? I was not aware of a we."

"Ah! There's the catch. Seeing now we are both free to do as we please, why not?" Jim suggested, smiling like a salesmen who sold the million dollar car.

Sherlock was tempted to light another cigarette. Mind Palace Mycroft scolded him for such an idea.

"You tried to kill me," Sherlock told him.

"And you thought I was dead. The past is the past, Sherlock. Why not start anew?" Moriarty was grinning like a snake.

"How did you do it?" Sherlock asked, suddenly unable to hold in his curiosity any longer.

"Oh! Now we want to know?" Moriarty said, grinning again.

'Damn, I really need a cigarette.' Sherlock thought. "I just... I want to know. It's... impressive."

"Impressive? My! You have missed me," Moriarty said, beginning to walk around Sherlock predatorily.

"No one else has your class," Sherlock muttered, sassily.

"True."

"So how did you do it?" Sherlock asked again, after a few beats of silence.

"The only way you'll know is if you drag it out of me," Jim said, teasingly.

Sherlock was caught between a rock and a hard place. He wanted - no - he NEEDED to know how Jim faked his death. Sherlock watched the man die, for crying out loud. If Sherlock were to go with Jim, what would happen?

'People might talk,' John's voice echoed in Sherlock's head.

'People do little else,' Sherlock thought back.

"It's really tearing you apart, isn't it?" Jim's voice rang, breaking Sherlock from his thoughts.

'What would John think? Or Molly? Greg? Mycroft? And what would Mrs. Hudson say when she came back to find someone else shoes at the bottom of the stairs?' Sherlock thought some more, his mind quickly figuring out what he needed to do.

"Tick tock, Sherlock," Jim sang.

'To hell with it!' Sherlock thought, finally deciding. He was a grown man, capable of making his own decisions.

"My place or yours?" Sherlock asked, whipped around to look Moriarty in the eyes.

"Yours," Jim said, smiling.

 

~~~~~~~~~~Sherlock~~~~~~~~~~

 

"Tell me now!" Sherlock demanded, ramming into Moriarty again.

Sherlock had Jim tied down to the bed, and gagged, with his scarf collection. Jim stifled a moan and shook his head no. He was loving every second of this. He had Sherlock right where he wanted him.

"The best trick the devil pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist," Jim said cryptically, spitting out the gag.

"You said you would tell me!" Sherlock said, replacing the gag. "So I said, tell me." Sherlock pulled Jim's hair back, exposing his neck. Sherlock leaned in, and began sucking a bruise on the base of Jim's throat.

Jim held nothing back. He moaned loud enough for one to think that he wasn't gagged. He spit out the gag again. "Finish the job, and I will tell you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, replaced the gag yet again, and picked up his pace. They'd been at this for a while now. Jim wasn't going to last much longer, and neither was Sherlock. Sherlock went for a spot on the side of Jim's already bruised neck, and placed another bruise. The effect of those bruising kisses did something to Jim. It was his pressure point.

"Ah! Ah! Sherlock!" Jim gasped out. He was close. So close.

Jim easily freed a hand from the binds of a scarf and yanked Sherlock into a deep kiss, as he shuttered beneath Sherlock. Sherlock gasped and let himself go inside of him. Sherlock collapsed, panting heavily, on top of Jim. They lay like that for a few minutes, just enough for Sherlock to regain his bearings.

"How did you do it?" Sherlock whispered, rolling off of Jim.

Moriarty chuckled. "You always have an end game insight."

"I held up my end of the deal, you hold up yours," Sherlock demanded.

Jim grabbed a tissue from the box on Sherlock's dresser, and whipped his stomach off. He tossed the tissue in the trash can, and pulled the covers up.

"Maybe tomorrow," he said, snuggling down into the bed.

Sherlock sighed, running a hand through his hair. He settled down next to Jim, and wrapped an arm around his waist. He had no choice but to wait. This was Moriarty's game, and Sherlock was utterly bored.

**Author's Note:**

> There may or may not be a part two to this. If there is a part two, it'll be a separate story. I'm toying with the idea of having John stop by the next morning to ask why Sherlock left early, or Mrs. Hudson coming to give Sherlock morning tea and finding Jim. As of right now, it's just an idea.


End file.
